Enter SIR OWEN, BLONDEL, and Pilgrim. Sir O. My brave friend, how rejoic'd I am to see you. -You are well disguised indeed; I myself should never have guess'd it was Blondel. Mat. Blondel! what do I hear! [Aside. Blon. Caution, my friend. My search would be fruitless indeed, should I be discovered. And see. [Pointing to Matilda. Sir O. It is a poor blind youth, a wandering minstrel who diverts the peasants. Mat. Shall I play, worthy gentlemen? I have a ditty made by a royal lover, on the lady whom he loved. [Plays. Sir O. Why are you so much astonished? Blon. That was made by iny gallant master-prithee go on. [She plays again] Oh! how it reminds of happy days!- -Tell me, boy-where could you learn that tune? Mat. I was taught it by a servant of king Richard's camp, who said he had heard the king himself sing to it. Blon. Even so;-he made it for the lovely and unfortunate Matilda; unfortunate indeed!-for passing through Artois, I learned that she had left her father's court, and fled almost alone, upon the rumour that the royal Richard had been treacherously seized, as he returned from Palestine.-O! if her gallant monarch yet lives, sure heaven will guide some of those who seek him to the prison that immures him. Sir O. Perhaps the fair Matilda alone has had intelligence. Blon. O! no-But yesterday I pass'd the seneschal's, her father's trusty friend, who with a chosen band of troops was searching to reclaim her; and he had learned, that stript of her companions by perfidy, or death-she had sought the shelter of a monastery. Mat. The seneschal so near. [Aside] Gracious sir, if music has pleas'd you, will you entreat your kind host to lodge this night a poor harmless minstrel, who lost his precious sight in Palestine, and I will play all night to sooth you. Blon. Poor youth.-He will, I doubt not.— [Makes signs to Antonio, who leads Matilda off. Sir O. I had refused him only from the caution I thought due to you. But come, you must forget the pilgrim awhile we'll in to supper soon. In the mean time I'll sing you a song, and these my rustic neighbours shall join the chorus. Enter Peasants. SONG. Sir O. Let the sultan Saladin, While he claims his subjects' duty, Every man must have his way; Chorus. But to my poor way of thinking, Coeur de Lion loves the wars, Every man must have his way; Chorus. But to my poor way of thinking, True joy is drinking. trade, You too, pilgrims, love your Every man must have his way; But to my poor way of thinking, Chorus. But to my poor way of thinking, [Exeunt. SCENE III. A Chamber in the Castle. Enter RICHARD and FLORESTAN. Rich. Florestan! Flor. Stre! Rich. Your fortune is in your power. Rich. Honour to a traitor!-a base! perfidiousFlor. Did I believe him so, I would not serve him; and not believing, I must not listen, where I dare not answer. Rich. But Florestan- [Florestan bows, and exit] Oh God!-oh misery!-Is this to be my lot for ever!Am I doom'd by a vile traitor's craft to wear my life away in ignominious bondage!-But Richard is forgot -deserted by his people-by the world!-[He looks on a Picture] Image of her I love!-come-Oh! calm, console my heart-No-thou dost redouble all my griefs-thou art my despair-O, death! I call on thee -thy dart alone can break my chains-my freedom is my grave! SONG. RICHARD. Lost to the world, forgot, forlorn, That brings no more my glorious toils; [Exit. B The Theatre represents the inner Works of an old Fortification. Towards the Front is a Terrace, enclosed by Rails and a Fosse; and so situated, that when Richard appears upon it, he cannot see Matilda, who is upon the outer Parapet.-Time, the Dawn of Day. Soldiers lower a Drawbridge, which they cross, and leave a Sentinel on each Side. Enter RICHARD and FLORESTAN. Flor. The morning breaks-the fresh air is lighten'd by the dawn-profit of it, sire, for your health's sake. Within an hour your guards must do their duty, and you will be again secluded from the day. [Exit. [Richard walks to the further End of the Terrace, and remains in a Posture of deep despair. Enter MATILDA and ANTONIO on the other Side the Fosse and Parapet. Mat. Antonio, stay awhile; here on this rising ground we'll rest-I love to feel the pure fresh air-it is the balmy breath of morn, whispering the sun's approach. Were are we now? Ant. Close to the parapet of the castle which you bid me bring you to. [Matilda offering to get upon the Parapet] Ah! don't attempt to get upon it-you'll fall. Mat. Indeed! Well here, kind boy-take this money, and go buy something for us, that we may breakfast. Ant. You have given me a great dealMat. Keep for yourself what is too much. Ant. Oh, thank you! and pray take care not to go too near the moat. [Exit. Mat. When you return we will walk to some shade -shall we?-You don't answer me he is gone-and now then-[Lifts up the Bandeau, and raises herself on the Parapet] Ah! no one to be seen! Rich. A year-a year is pass'd! hope is exhausted! Mat. How still! how silent-Sure if those walls enclose him, my voice may reach their deepest recesses -Oh! if he is here he will remember the strain-'twas the offering of his earliest love in happy days-of love for her, who now uncertain of his fate-yet shares his misery. Rich. No cheering thought! no glimmering ray of consolation-O memory!-O Matilda! [Matilda plays] What sounds!-heavens!-the very strain I once-Oh! let me hear Mat. [Sings] One night in sickness lying, A prey to grief and pain. Rich. Heaven, that voice! Mat. [Sings] When aid of man was vain, Then came my mistress to my bed, [She stops and raises herself to listen. Richard, while she sings, having expressed the extremes of surprise, hope, and joy, seems to endeavour to recall to his Memory the rest of the Ditty, and recollecting it, answers, |